


Groupie

by freakylemurcat



Series: Collar and Cuffs [4]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformer - Fandom, Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ass Play, BDSM, Bathing/Washing, Bathtub Sex, Blow Jobs, Couch Sex, Cowgirl Position, Cuckolding, Deepthroating, Double Oral Penetration, Double Penetration in One Hole, Double Vaginal Penetration, Flexibility, Groping, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Married Sex, Mirror Sex, Missionary Position, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Roleplay, Standing Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, Valve Fingering (Transformers), Valve Play (Transformers), Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:20:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22852399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freakylemurcat/pseuds/freakylemurcat
Summary: It can't be said that Prowl is only stern with the Twins; sometimes he brings them a treat instead.
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl, Jazz/Sideswipe (Transformers), Jazz/Sideswipe/Sunstreaker (Transformers), Jazz/Sunstreaker (Transformers)
Series: Collar and Cuffs [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1578811
Comments: 7
Kudos: 87





	1. The Gladiators

The toy Prowl had brought them this time was a sweet little entertainment frame, bouncing eagerly on his pedes beside the enforcer. He was nearly trembling with excitement, and Sideswipe could feel the bond with his twin billow with pride at the reaction. 

“This is Jazz,” said Prowl, face dour and stern as ever. He placed a hand between Jazz’ shoulder blades and gently pushed him forward. “He’s a very big fan.”

Sunstreaker moved up to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with his brother as the mech hopped on his toe-pads in sheer glee, broad lips stretched even wider with the smile on his face. 

Sideswipe could think of two things that mouth would look better stretched by; but didn’t it look like Prowl might have gotten there before them? There was a silvery trace at the corner of his mouth that hadn’t been wiped away properly, and a few spots of moisture drying on his chest. 

Well, he  _ was _ a pretty thing, so Sideswipe wouldn’t fault Prowl having a taste. 

"Wow," he was saying, half reaching up to touch Sunstreaker's glossy chest and then withdrawing almost ashamedly. "You're way bigger in person." 

"Heard that before," grunted Sunny. He was eyeing the mech's curves with an openly appreciative optic, as ever not bothered with playing the games it took to get a fan into their berth. 

That left it all to Sideswipe, but he had a lot of expertise talking around his brother's sullen nature.

”You watch the fight?” asked Sideswipe, elbowing Sunstreaker in the side as a warning.

“Well, yeah,” said Jazz, all smiles and giggles. “You guys sure are somethin’!”

“Nice to know we’re appreciated, eh Sunny?” said Sideswipe, elbowing him again.

“Yeah,” said Sunny, the epitome of loquaciousness. He was still eyeing up the groupie’s pretty chest – one of those speedsters with slinky curves rather than their own hard lines – not as big as Prowl’s but impressive nonetheless. Sideswipe wouldn’t complain about getting his hands on that bumper.

As if sensing where their processors were going, Jazz clasped his servos in front of his chest, as if delighted. He was a cute thing, all coy and gleeful at the moment, but the Twins could recognize a groupie when they saw one.

Prowl only brought them the best after all.

“Come, have a seat with us,” said Sideswipe. “We’ve got a few cubes spare.”

He poured a trio of fresh cubes as Sunny made himself comfortable on his side of the sofa. Jazz settled nervously on the other side, visor still glittery with the excitement of being near his gladiator hero.

Before Sideswipe could gather the cubes up, Prowl swooped in and snatched up one.  “Help yourself,” he said tersely, picking another spare container to fill it with the last of highgrade.

“I figure I’m owed a little payment for introducing you to your adoring fan,” said Prowl, with a smirk.

“Yeah, like you ain’t already took your cut,” said Sideswipe. Prowl looked back at him with a blank expression, as if he hadn’t understood the reference, but Sideswipe knew fine well he had.

“Just enough for the four of us!” he declared instead, and passed the cubes out. Sunny sipped his casually, knowing the potency was deceptive behind the light flavour, but the groupie took a healthy swig and shivered with the blast of charge delivered straight into his tanks.

“Careful,” said Prowl, “Sideswipe brews heady stuff."

“It’s real nice,” said Jazz, shuffling along sideways as Sideswipe urged him to shift into the middle seat. He looked extra cute sitting so primly in between their big relaxed frames. “You make it yourself?”

“Gotta do something with my spare time.” Sideswipe wet his lips but didn’t drink much more. A processor fogged with engex would no be an ideal way of spending this shift. “So where'd you come from Jazz?”

The mech waved an airy servo, taking another gulp of highgrade. “Staniz originally, but it was a long time ago. Moved when I met my conjunx.”

Ooh, a bit more spicy than Sideswipe had been expecting then – Staniz had three things – spaceships, heavy industrial frames to build the spaceships and sexy little pleasure frames to keep the industrial frames happy. He could guess which of the three Jazz was...

“Yeah? He from Staniz too?”

“Oh, he’s Praxian,” said Jazz, “But we don’t live there. Been in Iacon for a few vorns.”

He was nearly halfway down the first cube already; Sideswipe tweaked the bond and Sunny reached out and topped it up with his own barely touched one.

“His conjunx is ... a colleague,” said Prowl almost absently. He was also imbibing his engex at a sensible rate. “This was a surprise present, wasn’t it Jazz?”

“Yeah,” said Jazz, with a sweet smile. “He said it was a reward for being so patient while he was busy with work, but I didn’t think it would be you guys!”

They chatted for some time – well, Sideswipe and Jazz chatted and Sunstreaker occasionally interjected grunts and focussed on keeping Jazz’ cube near brimming. Jazz was a chatty soul, afar too open and free with information – Sideswipe suspected his Praxian conjunx had kept this beauty on a tight leash since bonding to him and this was one of his first trips out in a long while. He had been a dancer, by the sounds of it – although he was shy about what type. He was also getting more overcharged, bit by bit, a little freer with information and a lot more prone to gesturing as he spoke.

“Oops!” Sideswipes had leaned in too close and ended up with energon splashed down them both. “Oh no!”

Jazz reached out to wipe it off - but wasn’t it just a shame it was dripping down over Sideswipe’s codpiece? A nimble hand swept over the area, and Jazz squeaked when he reached what he had just done and recoiled back into Sunstreaker’s side.

“Oh Primus! I’m sorry!”

Sideswipe laughed and brushed the rest of the fuel from his thigh. “No worries, cutie. Just a splash.”

“You got some more here,” said Sunstreaker, one of his golden hands slowly brushing down the curve of Jazz’ ample chest. It was a slow, intentionally provocative manoeuvre, and the mech was just drunk enough to gasp out loud as big fingers curled up underneath his bumper.

“A bit here too,” said Sideswipe brushing the other side of the shiny bumper. Jazz squeaked.

“Wouldn’t do to send you back to your noble conjunx ina mess,” said Prowl from his perch leaning on the kitchen counter.

Jazz jerked like a mech who had been electrified, and sat bolt upright between the twins, defiantly not touching either of them. He inched forward as if to get up but never really moved far enough to manage it. 

“It was real nice meeting you,” he said,” But maybe I should go? I’m a bit woozy…”

Well Sideswipe wasn’t surprised, given he’d drunk the equivalent of a cube and a half of high strength engex. That he was upright at all was a testament to a cast iron tank.

“Nah, said Sideswipe, reaching out and pulling their fan back in by a grip around a nipped-in waist “Stay a little longer. You only just got here.”

“You don’t want to waste Prowl’s time,” agreed Sunstreaker.

“I’m comfortable where I am,” added Prowl.

“Well…” Jazz glanced at them both, visor shimmering a deeper shade of blue. “I suppose…”

“Yeah, come on,.” Sideswipe nearly had that wide aft parked in his lap now. He was warm against him, vents halfway open and blowing out hot air from his overcharged systems. He was ticklish there as well, Sideswipe discovered, running careful fingers along the slats and smiling when it earned him a giggle and a gasp.

“Where else are you ticklish?” he asked, dropping his voice down a few pitches . To the other side of him, Sunny was already moving in closer -their plan a well oiled machine - reaching into the tiny gaps of hubcaps and slithering down the curve of that bumper again, tracing the contours of racing stripes like he was mapping them out. This time the mech didn’t protest, but arched into the touch with a strangled gasp.

“You’re really pretty,” said Sideswipe, running his hands over the tight slats of a flexible abdomen. The frame writhing against him promised a whole bevy of positions most mechs wouldn’t find possible – on the other end of the bond Sunny was just as excited about the idea. “Don’t ya think, Sunny?”

“Yeah sure,” said Sunstreaker, thoroughly distracted by the pattern of overlapping plates shifting and contracting under his touch. He climbed down from the sofa, kneeling in between strong thick thighs to have the best angle to touch and grope. “Real hot.”

“Sunny doesn’t say that stuff lightly,” added Sideswipe in a conspiring tone. “He’s a real picky mech. Not many get his attention."

“Oh?” quavered the groupie.

“Only ever says it to mechs he wants to get into berth,” said Prowl,. Sideswipe jumped – he had forgotten the slagger was even there, as had Jazz who made a noise like a fanbelt slipping.

“Ignore him” said the Twins at the same time.

“You know Prowl,” said Sideswipe.

“Such as afthole,” finished Sunstreaker. “Wouldn’t trust him to tell if he said he said my paint was gold.”

While Sunstreaker was stroking into the cables of their groupie’s thigh joints with soft artist’s digits, coaxing him slowly to relax from the height of his tension, Sideswipe glared over at where Prowl was still relaxing at their kitchen table. It appeared as if he didn’t intend to leave, and he just shrugged back, unmoved by the stare. 

“Don’t you have better places to be?” Sideswipe asked.

Prowl snorted. “As if. The last time I left you two alone with a fan, you made such a racket security came crashing in. Anyway, I promised his conjunx I’d play chaperone.” He smirked, and Sideswipe had no doubt he’d had a go on this hot little frame before he’d brought him in. 

“He  _ trusts _ me,” whined Jazz, shivering out of Sunstreaker’s grip again, but it only brought him closer to Sideswipe’s strong arms. He reached around and half pinned the writhing mech in place. “Prowl, you won’t tell him?”

“He told you to have a good time, didn’t he?” said Prowl, choosing a stool with the best view and settling down. “I bet the twins will show you a  _ great _ time.”

Whatever magic was in Prowl’s words, it worked, for Jazz went pliable in their grasp, and let Sunstreaker spread his thighs. Sideswipe mouthed a neat audial horn, breathing coaxing, dirty ideas about him mewling underneath them, how nice they’d frag him, until there was a snap of a panel opening and his twin made a noise of satisfaction. 

From his angle, Sideswipe could’t see much of Jazz’ valve yet, but from Sunstreaker’s side of the bond he could tell it was a pretty sight. 

“Piercings, huh?” said Prowl. “I thought you were a good mech, Jazz. I only know one type of mech with valve piercings…”

“My conjunx likes them,” said Jazz defensively, a hand trying to come down to hide his array, but Sideswipe’s grip was still too strong. 

“I bet he does,” grumbled Sunstreaker, even more gravelly than usual. “Pass my regards onto him for his taste.” His long fingered hands curved around under Jazz’ aft, pulling him further down on the sofa seat until he was half off the edge. “Primus, you’re dripping.”

“He must want us pretty bad, huh, Sunny?” suggested Sideswipe. He exchanged a glance with his twin and then jerked his head for him to continue, looming up and over the hot little groupie. “Bet this isn’t from thinking about your conjunx, is it?”

Jazz bit his lower lip, and refused to meet his gaze, but as Sunstreaker popped his panels, his visor was drawn downwards exonerably. His vents caught. 

Sideswipe wasn’t anywhere near as vain as his brother, but even he thought they had been forged with some slagging hot frames. This slutty little groupie wasn’t the first mech they had fragged together, and therefore the sight of his brother’s spike pressurising to full hardness was no novelty. He still leant forward a little more, pushing Jazz up closer to Sunny’s frame, so he could watch. 

Ooh, it was slagging hot. The groupie had plush swollen valve lips, a soft silvery grey, and bright biolights that shimmered with the heat of his frame. Six piercings, blue like sapphires, lined each side of his valve. Sunny slicked the length of his spike, thrusting gently up between those pretty lips until he was dripping wet as well. 

“Oh,” breathed Jazz softly, as if realising for the first time what they were going to do, and then as Sunny’s spike breached him, “Oh!”

He made tiny breathy noises as Sunstreaker sunk halfway in on the first pass, visor glowing like a beacon, and then whimpered as he pulled back. 

“He good?” asked Sideswipe. 

“Fragging wet,” said Sunny, between gritted dentae. “He’s a proper little whore.”

Jazz made a soft noise of complaint and Sideswipe laughed. 

“If he can still bitch you ain't fragging him properly. Shift over and I’ll show you how!”

“Frag off!” snapped Sunstreaker and sank his spike deep in one brutal thrust. The mech beneath him squealed and kicked out, but couldn’t shift the heavy gladiator frame settled over his own. “I’ll show you to fuck a mech!”

Sideswipe knew when to shut up and let Sunny have his fun. He kept his grip on the mech’s elbows and entertained himself licking and nipping at the nearest audial horn he could reach, even as the mech yelped and gasped beneath his twin. Sunny was giving the mech a good old fashioned pounding, his armour clattering against a glossy aft. Sideswipe didn’t need to feel his excitement through the bond – he could tell enough because the mech wasn’t complaining about the paint transfers he’d be getting on his thighs.

“Make yourself useful,” snapped Sunny, hooking a thick thigh up and pressing it up higher and higher until the knee joint was scraping the side of the mech’s bumper. Sideswipe took it obediently, and laughed when Sunny’s next thrust elicited a yelp from their plaything again, the new angle allowing a deeper push.

It took only four more thrusts for the groupie to judder hard into an overload, sobbing as Sunny kept up his punishing rhythm throughout.

“Primus, he’s soaking now,” said Sunny. “We’ll need a new couch after this.”

Despite his complaints, Sunstreaker didn't let up, keeping at his rough fierce thrusts. Jazz continued to yelp and moan, but it sounded pleased, edges riches with lust. One of his servos had latched onto Sunny's forearm, clutching tighter with every thrust, and the leg that Sideswipe wasn't pinning back had hooked over his twin's waist. It was hot as slag just watching - with the benefit of sensation Sunstreaker did not last much longer before he tipped into overload.

Sideswipe shivered with the echoes of his brother’s overload, a frisson like a ghost of overload shaking through his sensors. He hadn’t even popped his own panels yet, but his spike array was sending urgent alerts that it was going to pressurise sooner rather than later and that the damn plating better be out of the way.

Sunny stood back, spike slipping free with an obscene wet noise, and Jazz sobbed.

“Look at the mess,” sighed Sunstreaker, hands on his hip. His pelvis and thighs were soaked with transparent slick, his spike still dripping silvery transfluids. “Come here and clean me up, slut.”

Sideswipe let go of the groupie’s thigh and shoved him forward. Jazz landed on his hands and knees at Sunny’s feet, saving himself from falling flat on his face plates with the grace of a dancer. On all fours, his aft looked even better, and his valve was indeed dripping slick and fluids. It was a hell of a view, and Sideswipe finally let himself be tempted and his spike pressurised almost instantly once his armour was transformed back. The relief was delicious, so good that even Sunny shook with it.

“Come on, hurry up,” snapped Sunstreaker, reaching down and collaring Jazz under the chin. It looked hot as hell, that slinky curvy frame pressed up tight to one of Sunny’s glittering golden legs; like the cover on the front of those blue-datapads that First Aid sometimes read when the med-bay was calm.

Although most of the heroes didn’t have their spikes out; Sideswipe thought that the stories might be a bit more fun if they did.

Slowly, Jazz applied his mouth to Sunny’s spike, letting it slip onto the cushion of his glossa. Sunny grunted when the mech actually began to suck, bobbing his head shallowly .

“He can go deeper than that,” said Prowl absently. When Sideswipe looked over , the mech had brought out a datapad and was making notes, as if there wasn’t a threesome occurring just across the room from him.

“I knew you fucked him!” said Sideswipe triumphantly.

“A mouth like that would be a shame to miss,” said Prowl, ticking something else off on his . “His conjunx doesn’t give it the respect it’s due, I bet you. Not a fun strut in that mech’s body.”

“Well let’s see then.”

Jazz could indeed take a spike far deeper, right down to the base when Sunny really pushed him. He barely even choked either, just whimpered and braced his palms on Sunny’s long legs as his face plates were pressed up tight to Sunny’s protoform.

“Wow.” Sideswipe jumped up and draped his arm over Sunny’s shoulder, so he could peer down at the sexy little creature debasing himself at their feet. For a mech with an optic band, and his mouth fully occupied, he still managed to pull off a despairing expression remarkably well. “Oh wow… That’s hot.” 

Sunny held his position for a moment or two longer, and then pulled back. Jazz spluttered and coughed, but just clutched tighter to Sunny’s leg, mouth pursed in a dissatisfied moue.

“Please,” he whined.

Sunstreaker looked smug. “Only took me fragging him once to make him change his tune,” he said.

Sideswipe snorted. “Yeah, or maybe it was the sight of my spike that’s got his mouth watering.” He caught the audial horn he had been leering into earlier and dragged the whimpering Jazz over to his spike instead. “Have a taste.”

His earlier assessment had not been wrong – Jazz’ mouth looked well stretched around his spike, the soft metal of his cheek bulging when Sideswipe shoved against it. He knew to keep his dentae well out of the way too, and his glossa flickered out to rub what hadn’t fit into his mouth.

“A bit deeper,” Sideswipe encouraged, happy to play the good cop to Sunny’s bad for the moment. Certainly it didn’t stop Jazz from swallowing and letting his spike breach the delicate intake valve at the back of his mouth. The only complaint he made about his throat being abused in such a manner was a short groan when his nose was pressed tight to Sideswipe’s pelvis. The vibration was electric on his spike, so it was no discouragement, and anyway Sideswipe was not inclined to stop. 

“Hey, move back a bit,” said Sunny, flashing a brief image across their sparkbond, filthy and wholly imaginative in only the way Sunstreaker could be. Sideswipe approved greatly and didn’t complain about his turn at their groupie being interrupted so soon.

It was a bit of a stretch, but the mech had such a wide, pretty mouth it was just possible: a tight fit, but also a good one. He looked even better with the heads of both their spikes squeezed tightly between his lips, not much room to move more than a few short jerks back and forth against each other. For any real stimulation they had to alternate thrusting deeper and pulling out, until Sunstreaker tired of the sensation and stepped away. 

Sideswipe took his opportunity again, fragging the groupie's willing throat with long slow thrusts. Jazz' vocaliser hummed and crackled with groans against his tender protoform. He was revving already as it was, hot with excitement, so it didn’t take long for his own overload to wash over him, and spill his transfluid down the willing tanks of the pretty creature at his feet.

“You’re rough,” whined Jazz when his mouth was freed.

“Well, yeah,” said Sideswipe, flopping down onto his seat on the sofa again holding a hand up for Sunny to give him a reluctant high-five. “That’s what you wanted wasn’t it?”

“Feel free to leave if you don’t like it,” added Sunstreaker, starting to rouse himself again. His spike was half-hard, slumped in the crux of his hip and his thigh, a gleaming golden and silver. Jazz didn’t move, but his mouth pulled into a pout at his bluff being called so easily. “Can’t be too bad then,” said Sunstreaker. He hauled himself up right, and beckoned, "Come here."

* * *

They took turns for a while, one playing with their groupie while the other recuperated and enjoyed the view. Poor Jazz, panting and issuing steam from nearly every vent, wasn’t much of a match of two frontliners, but to his credit he seemed to keep pace with them.

He had whimpered and whined through the first encounter, but now he was far more amenable. Sideswipe supposed the availability of thick spikes had distracted him somewhat from thoughts of his conjunx. He didn’t even complain about the nasty names Sunny called him – whore, dirty, toy- but almost seemed to enjoy the debasement. Sideswipe wouldn’t understand it, but what got a mech off got them off. Anyway it made Sunny happy.

What really made Sunny happy was displays indicative of his own vanity. Sideswipe teased him about it, but a mech had to have a favourite sin – and if Sunny’s was related to the damn big mirror he had appropriated from somewhere then this was also fair enough. He kept it at nearly a high sheen as his own paintwork, and was making a lot of use of it at the moment. He had picked their groupie up, taking advantage of his flexibility to hook his arms behind the mech’s head and in front of his strained knees. The poor mech was held at such an angle he was forced to watch Sunny’s spike plunge into his own valve or strain his neck upwards and see exactly the same thing in the mirror. Sideswipe couldn’t see how this might be a bad thing – the view was gorgeous, their groupie reduced to a flexible toy and panting stupidly with the heat build up in his frame.

Sideswipe swirled his half-cube of engex to disperse some of the stale sediments. The only thing that might improve his experience was a cygar, maybe laced with something a bit stronger, but there was only so much Prowl would tolerate before he started getting sniffy about ‘illicit substances’. Funny how he wasn’t so snobby when it came to encouraging sharing someone else’s conjunx without their knowledge.

Sunstreaker overloaded with a narl, thrusting until wet silver started to drip from their groupie’s stretched valve. 

“All right.” Sideswipe set his cube down and slapped his hips. “Pass him back over.”

Sunny deposited his steaming armful in Sideswipe’s lap, copping more than a handful of bumper on the way. Sideswipe agreed – he liked the shiny chrome of his bumper and those round headlights, which fitted nicely into the palm of each servo. His spike was hard again, had been for some time as Sunny had taken his turn to work over their groupie, and it only took him a few moments to wrestle the mech into the position he wanted. It was a little simpler than Sunny’s elaborate strut twisting choices: astride Sideswipe’s lap, valve swallowing down his spike in one smooth movement until he bottomed out against a ceiling node and Jazz wailed.

“We gotta do all the work, huh?” said Sideswipe, when the mech failed to do much more than clutch at his shoulders. His hips shunted up in a hard thrust, and he clapped both servos against Jazz’ wide hips in encouragement. “Come on, put a little effort into it.”

Initially Jazz cheated; rocking his hips back and forth in shallow thrusts, but Sideswipe wasn't prepared to be deprived out of the best service. His servo made a pleasant clang as he planted it hard onto Jazz’ aft. 

Jazz yelped, and sped up without any more prompting, bouncing on his knees and dropping down so his thighs clattered on Sideswipe's armour. Sideswipe lounged back in the seat, enjoying the pretty glossy frame bouncing on his lap, panting and moaning with every movement. 

"Now who’s the lazy one?" Sunny was swigging his highgrade again, leaning by the table where Prosl was still reading his datpad blithely. 

"I'm just enjoying the finer things in life,” said Sideswipe. "You should be pleased; you're always telling me I don't do it enough." 

Sunny huffed but his gaze was focussed intently on Jazz' bouncing aft. He looked at blank canvases like that, or the glossy skin of a new pot of paint or a particularly pleasing landscape. It was really a fantastic aft, smooth and warm and just right to grope. Sideswipe was a fan of a cute pert aft, but this handsome wider framed look had its upsides. Being able to occupy both hands spanking it at the same time was one of them.

Jazz’ rhythm faltered and his engine hiccuped as his system abruptly jumped in overload again. Sunny had been right – he was dripping wet now, oily lubricant dripping into the gaps of Sideswipe’s pelvis.

“He's very glam,” he said, over the mech’s drooping shoulders to his twin, “But no stamina.” He slaps one side of that nice aft again. "Come on. Giddy up! Some of us ain't done."

It took a few moments for Jazz to recollect his spinning gyroscopes enough to start up a rhythm again, and he has to brace his hands on Sideswipe's chest to support himself.

On one upstroke he leaned up a little too far and Sideswipe’s spike slipped out of his soaking valve, running up the curve of the protoform to his aft. Sideswipe was no slouch to sink back into his sloppy warmth, unable to hold back his groan, but an idea popped into his processors.

Now his digits dripped sweet smelling lubricant; Jazz made a faint gurgling noise when Sideswipe licked a droplet off his thumb – just to test – and then a far louder sound as Sideswipe shoved his digits into Jazz’ own mouth. He was just as dripping wet when he withdrew, which was good considering his plan.

Aft ports were one of those evolutionary deadends, that some mechobiologist could probably explain reasons for a million times over, but Sideswipe knew them as an extra way of having a real good time. They started so small and perfect, and stretched out beautifully as long as you were careful.

His slick, soaking digit wetted the tight iris perfunctorily, and he let Jazz’ own momentum push the fingertip in. He was tight – tightening down sharply at the penetration, but slowly relaxing as Sideswipe pumped his finger deeper and deeper. There was a liberal source of slick nearby after all, and Sideswipe used it to his advantage, easing his digits alongside his spike and then slipping them back into Jazz’ aft, until the tiny port opened willingly for him and he could shove three digits up there to throw off Jazz’ rhythm. He made such pretty moaning noises with a spike in his valve and digits up his aft.

“Leave something for his conjunx,” said Prowl, all of a sudden. “The way you boys are treating the rest of him, the poor mech will have nothing left to enjoy." 

Sideswipe reluctantly withdrew; it didn’t pay to piss off Prowl. “Think of it as a present for the mech,” he said cheekily, bouncing Jazz a little harder on his lap to make up for the loss of sensation. “When’s the last time he’s had a taste of that aft? Now it’s all ready to go.”

“How... magnanimous… of you,” said Prowl with a roll of his optics.

Well, with that avenue closed off, Sideswipe went for another favourite. Hauling Jazz up off his lap and dragging him down to the sofa on his side, knees hooked up tight to his chest, he placed on pede on the floor and fucked him hard. He braced hands on either side of Jazz’ dazed visor and hitched his hips in viciously, until the mech spilled into another overload, and Sideswipe could not resist following.

When he withdrew, the mech’s valve was even sloppier, silvery transfluids leaking out in rich streams, and the mesh was plump with friction and contact. Sunny had no pressing need to jump in, so Sideswipe could enjoy what was in front of him at his leisure. He rolled the mech onto his back, looming over him for a moment before taking position between his shivering thighs.

One digit was nowhere near enough of a challenge for that sloppy valve, so Sideswipe started with two, The even plunge of his digits brought up more slick, until the sofa was, definitely this time, utterly ruined. Three was closer to a stretch – but they were big mechs and some things were proportional. Four was just right – tight and hot and a little bit of a squeeze. 

“What’s the biggest thing you’ve had in your valve?” he asked, sliding his thumb into the palm of his hand, and ooh, the little slut could take that too.

“Ah!” Jazz wriggled against the plunging rising stretch in his valve, visor sparking a little every time one of Sidesweipe’s knuckles rode up on a sensor node. “I don’t know! I don’t keep track!”

“Had more than one spike in you at a time?”

Jazz made a humiliated choking noise and covered his faceplates with his servos. 

“I think Jazz has had an adventurous lifestyle before he met his current conjunx,” suggested Prowl mildly. “I doubt two spikes will be too much of a challenge.”

“Sounds like something we should try, eh?” said Sideswipe. Sunstreaker was nearly beaming his assent over their bond. “You, me and Sunny? Bet it would be hot as slag…”

The noise Jazz made was closer to choked than affirmative, but his thighs eased further apart and his engine revved. Well that was more than enough consent - Sideswipe was atop him in a moment, pushing back into his valve in a smooth thrust.  His pleats and mesh were not exactly loose, but more relaxed and pliable; they gave way pleasantly against Sideswipe’s first thrust.

The mesh was soft, slowly relaxing and stretching to his touch. Yeah, they could be brutes, but Sideswipe had no want to make some pretty, glossy shareware truly hurt. Luckily Jazz was more than capable of what was asked of him, and his valve soon accepted one of Sideswipe’s digits as well as his hard spike. The pretty mech took it with only the bare minimum of whimpering, the second with a hitch of his vents but no complaints. Sideswipe was about to trial a third, when Sunny shifted his lazy carcass and indicated he was ready to be back in action again. 

Sideswipe shuffled them closely together, coaxing strong thighs over his hip guards and wrapping his own arms around that tight waist. Their little groupie was still overheated, panting mineral rich air from his mouth to cool his half-cooked processors. Sideswipe kissed him, licking into his mouth and biting at his lips until Jazz was clinging to his shoulders with desperate fingers.

Prowl was staring at them, some dark jealousy in his wicked optics when Sideswipe broke the kiss, but the mech said nothing in censure, so Sideswipe nipped at a plump lipplate again and smirked back cheekily. Prowl huffed and turned back to his datapad without a word.

He stood, tilting backwards so the weight of the groupie’s frame braced tighter on his pelvis and laughed as he felt Jazz cling a little tighter, the vibrating thrum of maglocks engaging in the palms spread over Sideswipe’s shoulder blades.

“Scared I’ll drop you?” he teased, jolting his armful up so the mech squealed and clung even tighter, every part of his frame tensing. He repeated it once more, just for the ripple and clutch of the valve mesh around his spike and then Sunny, ever impatient, stepped forward. “Ah, my lovely brother, come to help. Give him a kiss as a thank you.”

Cautiously, Jazz unlatched himself slightly to twist his torso back and wrap his free arm over Sunny’s shoulder instead, drawing him into an expert kiss. It had the benefit of keeping Sunny quiet while he took some of the weight of the mech in Sideswipe’s hands with one servo across a pert aft and nudged his spike into place. Jazz moaned into Sunny’s mouth as the blunt head slipped inside with a sharp jerk, and all his protoform squeezed and then went soft and pliable and lovely.  Sunny quickly thrust deeper, taking some of the mech’s weight with a hand on a thigh and an arm wrapped around his waist.

Their groupie wasn’t heavy, by mech parameters, but by the time they really got going he was mostly a limp weight, the hands he had cast over their shoulders more interested in digging into armour seams and his thighs twitching with every thrust, so really they had to do a lot of the work retaining the position. But his valve was a nice tight fit around them, and every time Sideswipe slid back so Sunny could push in he could feel the echoes of his brother’s pleasure down the link.

They fucked him slowly at first, not willing to break their pretty toy. One of them would push deep as the other pulled back, the softness of valve protoform contrasting sharply to the rigid hardness of the other spike rubbing against them. Gradually Jazz’ valve started to conform more and more to their bodies, and it became easier to push deeper, harder. Positioned as they were, being rough wasn’t an option but it was evidently more than enough for Jazz

The shudder that passed through the frame in their grip was strut deep, spark deep, the intensity of overload but without the showy sparks and crackling spill of charge. Sideswipe could feel his vents seize up, the wash of scalding air condensing over his side cooling for a brief moment before fans roared into action again and Jazz made a mournful little sound, helm lolling unsteadily against Sunstreaker’s shoulder.

“That’s slagging hot,” said Sunny.

“Primus, I know!” Sideswipe lost his grip on his charge, and his transfluid tanks opened a last time with the crash of overload through his systems. Distantly he was aware that Sunstreaker’s echoes along their bond, the sharp grunt of pleasure as his twin lost his control as well and they both crammed in as tight as possible, so every last inch of the mech’s valve was painted with their pleasure.

Together they sank down to the floor, legs and knee joints bumping as they settled with their panting, exhausted, totally-fragged-out groupie slumped on their laps. It was testament to what a good job the hot little mech had done of tiring them out, Sideswipe thought muzzily, that it took Sunstreaker a good few kliks to start grumbling about the the mess of lubricant and tranfluids over his glossy paintwork. Sideswipe was just content to loll there with the little hottie on his spike still, listening to the whine of an overtaxed engine and feel the aftershocks tremor through his mesh.

Typically, Sunstreaker extracted himself first, surveying his front with a grim optic and stalking off regally - if a little unsteadily - to start repairing his finish. When Sideswipe showed no inclination of following, it was up to Jazz to extract himself. Sideswipe’s only assistance was to plant his servos back on that fine aft to help trembling limbs hold his weight.

Jazz’ previous pristine paintwork was muddied with red and gold streaks, his mouth bruised and swollen from the force of their attention and his own teeth digging into his bottom lip. He could only just about close his array panels over his abused valve and aftport as he finally managed to stagger upright.

Prowl set down his datapad as the groupie approached him on shaky, shivering legs.

“I wanna go home now," he whispered, vocaliser husky.

Prowl looked at him for a long while and then downed the last remnants of his highgrade, now a stale purple, in one smooth move.

“It has been a long time, hasn’t it?” he said. “Your conjunx will be wondering where you are.”

Jazz whined softly.

“You’ve kept me out far longer than I was intending,” Prowl continued, rising to his pedes. Sideswipe watched with the drowsy feeling of someone well satisfied as tired realisation dawned on Jazz’ face. “I think you probably owe me a little more to make up a half-decent story, don’t you?”

Without a word, Jazz sunk down onto his scraped knees and opened his mouth.


	2. The Conjunx

Jazz had been shoved brusquely under the showerheads with a short command to get himself clean. Prowl the enforcer had paused briefly to watch the first splash of solvent spill down his paintwork, and then excused himself with a huff and a flick of the doorwings. 

When he was cleaned up, Jazz decided, picking up a bottle of detergent - the cheap stuff used in the public washrooms - he would comm his conjunx immediately. He might have been running late, but Prowler would forgive him instantly. He always did.

Jazz was a lucky mech. 

By the time the solvent had become lukewarm, he was mostly free of the superficial scuffs and scrapes but he was left with a bevy of scratches that would need at least buffing out. He surveyed himself gloomily and started when the door hissed open again, still shaking legs nearly slipping on the wet floor. 

Of all the mecha to walk in, it was his conjunx. Broad winged and Praxian -like Prowl the enforcer - Jazz' conjunx was softer somehow, kinder. They were just as handsome as each other but there was something about his conjunx that turned Jazz' helm every time he saw him. 

"Jazz," he called, a smile bright on his sculpted face. "I was starting to worry you'd run away to join those gladiators of yours." 

"I'm sorry, Prowler," he said. "I guess I just got caught up and lost track of time… I didn't mean to make ya worry." 

Prowler held out a beckoning hand and Jazz stepped out of the solvent spray and took it, pulled unto a gentle embrace. "I knew you were in safe hands, but I couldn't resist coming to surprise you when I found out where you were." He leant in conspiratorially. "I even left work early…" 

Jazz giggled, as ever irresistibly drawn to his conjunx' special brand of affection. Mecha had always commented that they made a strange mix: so staid and quiet on one servo, and bright and effervescent on the other. To Jazz these moments of affection were all the brighter coming from this quiet and thoughtful mech. 

"So, you were wrestling then?" Prowler asked, running a gentle hand down over his hip where there was a livid scrape through which his silver bodywork shone. 

Jazz giggled. "Ah, yeah, I guess so. They were a bit bigger than me, so I can't say it was a total victory, but I gave 'em a run for their credits!" 

"I bet," said Prowler. "Let me pour you a warm bath and we can ease some of the strain from your cables. You'll ache come the morning otherwise." 

He'd come prepared with a cube of warm pink energon, swirled with copper sprinkles - ideal for warding off processor aches from the effects of high charge - and Jazz sipped it gratefully as the tub filled with viscous oil, seething gently with heat. He sank into it gratefully and settled on the bench around the rim, just the right height for the oil to lap over his headlights. 

Warm, nimble fingers petted down the back of his neck, pressing into the cabling and plucking and twerking until every wire and line was straightened. Prowler had knelt behind him, and although he was a stylus pusher by trade he had quick, strong servos, and Jazz melted more until his input than the lap of the oil. 

Below the waterline, the oil seeped through the gaps in his armour, at his joints and where the plating gapped to allow extra flexibility, coating his protoform with the warm slickness. It was hard to not shift in place when it breached the plating of his codpiece and array; he hadn't gotten around to opening up and cleaning the mess of his valve away, preferring to wait and do that in the sanctity of his own washrooms. His valve throbbed with the fresh heat.

"Getting warmed up?" asked Prowler, leaning a little harder into the touch he was plying to Jazz' shoulder, finally pinging a dent out under the force. He choked a moan back in response. "You're so responsive for me." 

Prowler had always liked that, that Jazz was always ready and raring to go for him. He seemed to have a blind spot that Jazz was ready and willing to go for pretty much anyone - damned Functionalism - but Jazz wasn't going to ruin his fun. 

"You know…" said Jazz, squeezing his thighs together and gasping as the sensation sluiced through his nodes. Primus, he hadn't thought 'facing would be on the table for cycles, but his frame clearly felt very different. "Guess I am."

With a splash, Prowler sunk into the oil as well, choosing not to sit up on the bench but stand in the pit in the centre and lean down over Jazz to kiss him. A mech full of surprises, he kissed like a champion every time; this one full of lust, glossa sliding into Jazz mouth in a mimicry of how his servo slid down and coaxed his array open, sliding digits into his valve. 

Jazz moaned softly at the sensation, his pleats and calipers sore and weak but the slick wash of oil swept in with Prowler's questing fingers was soothing like a balm. His gasps only served to encourage his conjunx, and Jazz found himself with both heels hooked behind the mech's back as he pressurised his spike and, so very carefully, slipped inside him. 

After the twin gladiators' spikes, his calipers were wide apart with barely enough tension to squeeze shut. Maybe it was a mercy that he wasn't tight around his conjunx' spike to rub his nodes raw again. The oil must have disguised the slick mess of transfluid and lubricant, for Prowler made no comment on how wet he was - but Prowler wasn't the sort of mech to pass comment on Jazz' valve unless it were a compliment. 

He fragged Jazz almost silently, except for the soft slap of the oil around them and the quiet bubble of their vents and fans under the liquid. Jazz kept up his soft moans, keen to give Prowler the satisfaction of fucking him well. It couldn't be as satisfying as normal, he knew, not with how loose he felt or the frictionless lubricant of the oil, and while Prowler's impassive face did not show any frustration, there equally wasn't the normal delight he had. 

Guilty, Jazz cast about wildly, and came to the only conclusion he had. He wouldn’t have his conjunx go wanting.

Sideswipe's fingers had loosened him up, the warmth of the oil relaxed his protoform further and with the tub full they wouldn't be running out of lubricant soon. And the enforcer  _ had _ told the twins to leave something for his conjunx to use. 

"Hey, Prowler," he crooned, trying to sound sultry. He looped his hands around the back of the mech's neck to draw him in so he could whisper to him, "I have an idea." 

"Yes?" Prowler nuzzled his chevron to Jazz's forehead. 

"Move back a bit," he urged, directing his conjunx to the distance where his spike slipped free and reached down under the oil to take him in hand. He could squeeze a bit tighter now, feeling that Prowler really wasn't at full pressure but needing him as hard as possible for success. 

The noise Prowler made when Jazz redirected his spike back to his array, this time a bit lower down, was startled. He settled his own servo over Jazz' to still him, and stared down with wide optics. 

“Not that I’m complaining but.. I mean.. You want..?" 

"Yeah," said Jazz, infusing his voice with just enough breathy lust to make Prowl's engine rev. "I bet it'll be real hot. I wanna make this tub  _ boil _ ."

"I don't…" Prowl's intake worked briefly, overriding his vocaliser with a croak of static."I don't want to take advantage of you… It isn't very… conjugal.” 

Jazz laughed, looking up at his lovely, silly, sweet mech, who had knowingly conjunxed a former pleasure-bot and now worried about objectifying him. After he had sent him to those gladiators? 

"Everything I am is yours, Prowler," he said. "And that goes from my spark, my processor, my armour and my protoform. And right now, I'm thinkin' mostly of the protoform." 

He sat up again, letting his hold go - reluctantly because Prowler had a nice spike which sat so comfortably in his grasp - and swivelled around, so his knees were on the bench and his elbows just able to keep his bumper from scraping the metal tiles of the lip of the tub. Like this his aft was just visible above the line of the oil, and he knew it was a tempting sight. 

"Come on, Prowler," he said, "Fuck my aft. I'm all ready for ya." 

The next confirmation died in Prowler's vocaliser, and he reached out both hands, grasping and groping what was available to him. He stroked a single thumb digit over Jazz' port, soft and questing, and then slowly put pressure on it to sink in at Jazz' encouraging moan. 

He was open enough that the first exploring digit sank in easy and smooth. Jazz was experienced enough to know that even with the best will in the world sometimes the frame refused with nerves rather than friction, so he vented out pointedly and sunk down a bit lower on his elbows, letting his struts go limp. 

"You're so soft," murmured Prowler, stroking this thumb in and out in a rhythm closer to petting than thrusting. "So relaxed. Did you do this for me?" 

"Yeah," said Jazz. "I wanted to give ya somethin' special. All for you." 

Prowler made a noise of wonderment, and then bowed down and his digit was replaced by, dear  _ Primus _ , his glossa. It was a strong flexible pressure, and Jazz' port was so ready it slunk right in, lapping and licking somehow hotter than the oil he had been so drenched with. Jazz yowled and scraped his digits on the metal tiles, the flexing so raunchy and novel that his frame lurched with the sharp bolt of charge. 

Mechs had eaten out his array before, both valve and aft, but this was  _ Prowler _ , sharp silver-tongue and articulate mouth kissing and licking until, with a shaken cry, Jazz overloaded just like that. 

"Holy slag," he just about had the wherewithal to mutter, finding himself with one cheek resting on the cool floor. Someone had replaced his metals with something soft and jellylike, and his temperature gauge was well in the red. " _ Prowler _ ..!" 

His conjunx chuckled, pressing a final kiss to the side of his hip, and then leaning down over him like a big metallic blanket. "Did you like that?" 

"Mech, I'll have ya wearin' down your jaw gears with how much I liked that!" 

Prowler's engine purred in satisfaction. "I'm glad." 

His spike was a firm heavy weight still, tight up against Jazz' abused valve lips. He was so sensitive he could kid himself to think he was feeling the throb of energy pumping into it, and the thought of it sliding inside his aft port was suddenly all the more delicious. 

"I still want ya," he said, "Please Prowler. I'm so ready for your spike. I want it so bad!" 

"You needn't debase yourself for me." 

"I  _ want _ it," Jazz whined, "Please, Prowler." 

His Prowler never denied him anything he  _ really _ wanted for long. So what if Jazz was a kept mech - he was kept  _ good _ . 

Firstly, Prowler went gentle on him, sliding the tip of his spike up and down over his soft, open port, pressing in and drawing back before full penetration. Never one to bear being teased, Jazz bore it for a short while before leaning back into the pressure and moaning as the blunt tip pushed in. Both of them gasped, and before Prowler could regain his control and try to prevent any further movement, Jazz pushed back and took most of Prowler’s spike with a moan. 

It felt good - he had been more than well stretched, and was definitely keen enough - and then Prowler pushed deeper, until his pelvis bumped Jazz’ aft, and it was even better. He was so full, aching with the pressure deep inside his belly, sending deep shivers up his back struts. Behind him, Prowler gripped his waist tight enough to crimp plating, hips shunting forward in little aborted taps against Jazz’ aft. Making his conjunx lose his cool like this felt almost as good as Prowler’s digits trailing down to play over his anterior node. He wriggled and whimpered, hoping to spur Prowler into moving. 

He did: starting with slow soft thrusts, gradually increasing the pace and depth and keeping his fingers circling over Jazz’ node. Altogether it was too almost too intense, and Jazz dropped his helm into the crook of his elbow and panted frantically, charge burning his cables in overload.

Normally it was Jazz who was the loud one during interface, almost pathologically unable to stop talking and praising his conjunx, but this time it was Prowler who was the noisy one. He praised every inch of Jazz’ frame with his hands and his voice, declaring him the sleekest, prettiest mech this side of Praxus. He fragged Jazz’ aft, and with a breathy, stunned voice lauded how hot and tight his frame was, how willing and perfect he was for Prowler, to bow down like this and take it up the aft.

It was almost freeing a way, to listen to this, similar in a way to when the twins had pinned him between their huge frames and fragged him until there wasn’t enough space in his helm for one more thought. But this was so much more comprehensive, like the calm settled into Jazz’ very spark, cool and soothing.

Most of what he could feel was Prowler’s presence, his own frame didn’t seem important; what was was the push and grind of Prowler’s hard spike into him, against him, hands grasping his waist, the rumble of his voice calling Jazz’ designation as he overloaded with a messy series of thrusts. Hot transfluid spilled deep in his port, and Jazz' own frame convulsed in something that could have been climax, but the searing pleasure barely touched his frame, ran for more in his processors.

After that, it was all kind of a mess for Jazz. He was aware he was slumped, probably in a not very dignified position, but when your struts were apparently mercury-filled maybe that was ok. Anyway, there were warm hands on his hips, his thighs, his waist, his chest, his hands, everywhere, soothing and calm and firm, pulling him first up out of the tub and then against another steady frame.

Distantly there was the rattle of another mech speaking, voice like a superb chorus, soft and sweet and all-consuming and Jazz let his helm loll back and the sound wash over him, every moment of it more ecstasy.

He was washed down with efficient servos, and balm slicked over his most sensitive protoform to soothe the well-used roar of discomfort down to a pleasant ache, and all the while Jazz was happy and secure because he was with his Prowl.

The touch of hot oil made him start, and some of the pleasant floating sensation ebbed slightly. Jazz activated his visor – he hadn’t realised it had switched off- and watched Prowl slide gracefully into the pool beside him, fresh clean oil bubbling around them. 

Prowl smiled at him - not the sneering smirk of the enforcer Prowl, or the soppy sweet affection of his conjunx Prowler - but the complex, knowing grin of the mech that knew Jazz better than he knew himself. Jazz slung his arms around his neck and smiled back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BUTTS. Also affection.


End file.
